Seek, Don't Speak
by MatildaLee
Summary: Booth and Brennan have shared a bed in the past, but no one ever sees it. And they never speak of it. Here's a look at what has happened each time. Spoilers through CitC.


**Seek—Don't Speak**

The first time it happened, they were out of town on a case. They had had to stay over unexpectedly, and the only hotel in the small town had only one bed left. Booth had offered to take the floor; but it was early in their partnership, and Brennan, rejecting his chivalry as always, insisted that they share.

So they had.

It was innocent enough. Each one went to sleep after bidding the other a curt good night. They both clung to their sides of the bed, facing the walls. But in sleep, they had sought one another. All at once, amid the blaring alarm clock and the bright daylight, Booth opened his eyes to find Brennan's eyes a mere three inches from his own.

He bid her good morning. She shut off the alarm clock as he struggled to untangle himself from the covers. Then he went in search of coffee while she showered. They never spoke of it.

The second time it happened, they were in Vegas. She hadn't originally planned to stay, but he'd insisted, mostly because he was afraid to be in Las Vegas alone. He hoped she didn't realize that. When they went undercover as a couple, he moved his things into her room (the Jeffersonian had paid for a bigger suite). For the rest of that case, they shared a bed. Each night, after speaking for a while into the dark, he said, "Sweet dreams, Bones," and she replied with a "Good night, Booth," after she'd explained that neither of them had any control over what sort of dreams they had.

Brennan faced the wall and stayed on her side of the bed. Booth managed to find a comfortable position for his sore muscles after much ado, but he made sure to stay on his side of the bed as well. And each night, in sleep, the partners sought one another. One morning, Brennan woke to find Booth's arm slung across her torso. She didn't move it for fear of exacerbating injuries. The next morning, Booth's vision was blurred by a tangle of brown hair and a scent like apples filled his nose because Brennan was nestled into his shoulder. It hurt, but he didn't move her for fear of waking her. When the Nevada sun was high in the sky, they didn't speak of it.

The next time it happened, they shared a couch. It was after Angela and Hodgins's non-wedding reception, as Booth liked to call it. They'd left the party only to find themselves watching old movies at Booth's place. Booth dozed off against the arm of the couch long before the second movie was over, and Brennan didn't have the heart to wake him. She decided to stay until the end, and then to slip out quietly. Before the credits rolled, she was asleep, wrapped in a blanket, with her bare feet propped on his coffee table.

Some time in the night, he'd stretched lengthwise along the couch, and she alongside him. When the angled sun rays alighted on them, he woke up wrapped in her blanket, and she woke up wrapped in his arms. They didn't speak of it.

The next time it happened, Brennan slept in Booth's bed, but Booth wasn't there to share it with her. She'd driven to his building in the night. She'd found the spare key in the fake rock, and she'd stolen silently into his apartment. There was no logic in it: she knew that he had died by the hand of Pam Nunan, but she sought him anyway. She crawled into his bed, under the covers, where she could still smell his cologne, and she wept. She wept openly and bitterly until she fell into a fitful sleep. In the morning, she made the bed and she never spoke of it. And if, when he returned to his apartment, he thought he could smell the faint aroma of apples on his sheets, he never spoke of it either.

It happened again when they were undercover as circus performers. It was a trying case, but Booth and Brennan couldn't deny the excitement of being Buck and Wanda Moosejaw. After they'd rocked the vehicle back and forth for a sufficient amount of time, the two friends lay in the tiny bedroom of the stuffy, cramped mobile home. Brennan tried to entice Booth into planning a more elaborate act; Booth tried to distract her from it with stories about Parker and how the little boy had wished to join the circus the previous summer. They talked and joked well into the early morning hours, when the noise of the circus folk died down enough to let the sounds of a hot Texas night seep into their temporary home. Then they too grew quiet and drifted toward sleep, but not before Booth mumbled a quiet, "Sweet dreams, Bones," and, with a yawn, he turned onto his left side to face her.

She replied with her usual, "Good night, Booth," and she turned onto her right side to watch as his eyes grew heavy with sleep. Brennan fell asleep to the sounds of crickets, coyotes, and Booth's even breaths.

When they awoke, there was a case to be solved and there were calls to make and costumes to procure. They had no time to wonder at the way their arms had twined around each other in the night. And when, after a harrowing performance as Buck and Wanda, Booth and Brennan solved the case, they worked into the night instead of laughing and planning circus acts.

The Dallas field office came to take Magnum into custody. The partners signed forms and gave reports and statements. They made calls to defense attorneys and district attorneys alike, hoping to keep Magnum's sentence light. When all was done, and the other FBI agents had gone home, Booth and Brennan retreated to their tiny bedroom one last time.

They were saddened by the outcome of the case, and the fate of the circus family they'd known for so brief a period still weighed heavily on their minds. Booth and Brennan were too exhausted to do anything but fall into bed, still clothed in the remnants of their costumes. This time, Booth was still awake when he reached out and sought his partner. He pulled her back against his chest and buried his face in her hair, taking solace in the fresh apple scent of the shampoo that he'd smelled on his sheets those months ago. She sighed and ran a finger along the arm that was hooked around her waist, and she let her legs twist together with his. They fell into a deep slumber.

In the morning, they awoke, each in the other's arms. Booth unfolded himself from the cramped trailer and stepped into an empty field while Brennan brewed coffee. They spoke, but only of Buck and Wanda, and of the circus. "Is there only one bed there?" Cam had asked.

They didn't speak of it.

It happened when he was in the hospital. She had driven him there, and she had held his hand through the tests and through the explanations of what was wrong with him. She made the requisite phone calls to Rebecca and to their friends and to the Bureau. She left his sight just once when the doctors and nurses began to prep him for surgery.

He was frightened: he needed her, and he knew it, so he sought her with his eyes. She returned shortly, and though she was frightened too, for his sake she didn't show it. He begged her to stay with him through the procedure. He would be awake for brain surgery, and he needed her there. She could be brave for him when he thought his courage might fail. As they rolled his hospital bed down the hall to the operating room, he sought her hand with his.

And just before the surgery began, she sought his lips with hers in a brief, chaste kiss. Despite his fear, his eyes lit up and he smiled in surprise. They didn't speak of it; they didn't need to. Instead she said again, "You'll be fine."

Afterward, he was tired, but healthy. Brennan left to give the squints the good news, and Booth felt her absence for five long minutes. When she returned, she relayed that his friends would wait to visit him until after he'd slept a while. She turned to go, but he grabbed her hand again. "Don't leave, ok?" he asked.

She sat in a visitor's chair near his bed. He turned to face her without letting go of her hand. "Thanks, Bones," Booth said around a yawn, and as he drifted into sleep, he hugged her hand to his chest as a child would cling to a beloved security blanket.

Brennan raised her free hand to his face; the evening stubble on his cheek scratched her fingers. "Sweet dreams, Booth," she whispered. After a few moments, her own exhaustion caught up with her.

Soon Angela peeked into the room to see if Brennan needed anything while she sat with Booth. She found the anthropologist half in her chair, half in Booth's bed, fast asleep. His hands were tangled in her hair. Her arms were draped across his stomach. Angela tiptoed backwards and shut the door quietly.

She didn't speak of it.


End file.
